


Training Exercise

by helens78



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Character of Color, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-31
Updated: 2008-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim's been spirited off to Santorini on what Fury says is a training exercise; he's got more than one thing to learn there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Training Exercise

Any minute now they're going to get the call. They'll find out who the target is, who they need to pick up. They'll put together an approach plan and an acquisition plan, and it'll all come together like clockwork. Jim knows this because it's happened before--but it's happened in Toronto, in New York, in Detroit. Not in Santorini, where they've got a view so pretty it nearly hurts Jim's eyes to look at it.

"Want a glass of orange juice?" Fury offers.

"Yeah--no," Jim corrects himself. "No, I'm all right."

Fury nods. "I'm going out for a run. I'll be back in an hour or so."

"Okay."

He thinks about inviting himself, but doesn't; he's gone on runs with Fury before and has a hard time keeping up. Add to that the way he has trouble focusing when Fury's sweating and exerting himself--the man looks damn good in running shorts and a skintight t-shirt. The fact is, Jim hasn't been able to focus much out here at all. Mostly he's been looking at Fury and trying to avoid admitting to it; watching Fury watching him and trying to avoid thinking about it. That's not what he's here for. That's not what they do.

Except when it is, which has been almost every morning and twice last Sunday. They've been here nine days and eight nights now, and the longer they stick around, the harder it is to remember what they're really doing. Pulling somebody out of a tight spot, Fury said at first. Taking care of their own. Somehow all Jim can think about is Tony, back home, Pepper and Happy taking care of him while that busted-up carcass of his heals from the beating--and the fifty-story fall--he took last time he got in the suit after too much to drink. He got the bad guy (Stilt-Man is a lot of things, but a hardcore threat ain't one of 'em), but it was an ugly win, and he'll be out of commission at least three weeks.

If Jim were home, there'd still be an Iron Man. He'd be going on fumes by now, trying to do his work for the Air Force and his work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and the superhero shit on top of it, but he'd be there, and maybe the world would be better off for it. Maybe. He hasn't heard anything about the west coast going up in flames or Justin Hammer making another play for the company--surely Pepper would have found a way to reach him if anything like that had happened.

Fury comes back in from the run looking exactly like Jim knew he would; hot, sweaty, drop-dead-fucking-gorgeous. Fury's a man Jim shouldn't even look at, let alone touch.

That's all right. Fury touches him first.

They don't talk much this time. Early on, the first few times Fury seduced Jim (and there, okay, he can admit it; the man's been seducing him since day one), Jim wondered if Fury ever mixed talking with fucking at all. It was kind of nice at first, a real change from the kind of guy who won't shut the fuck up unless your dick's in his mouth, but somewhere along the way he stopped needing silence.

Still, this time Fury's slippery as a goddamn eel and intent on pinning Jim's legs to his chest. It's easier to go with it and soak up all the pleasure he can get than try to talk about anything. They're both sticky and exhausted by the time they're through, Fury braced on his arms, biceps tight--Jim's too high on that post-coital euphoria to beat himself up too much for squeezing them. The man's _strong_.

And he's smart. God, he's smart; it's taken Jim nine days and eight nights to catch up to him.

"This is bullshit," Jim says softly. "Am I right?"

"Be more specific," Fury says, levering himself up and over to the left. He stretches out, then seems to decide that felt good enough to do _right_; he stretches some more, head-to-toe, the lean dark line of him almost enough to knock Jim's thoughts off-course. Again.

"This mission," he says instead.

"Yeah?"

"There isn't one. Not really."

Fury rolls on his back and grins up at the ceiling, his one eye closing. "No."

"Son of a bitch."

Jim gets up, picks his clothes up off the floor, makes his way toward the bathroom. He stops when he gets to the door, looking over his shoulder at Fury. Fury's up on one elbow, and he's got his eyebrow raised, but he isn't smiling anymore. Too bad. If he were, Jim could step into the shower and walk out of here without another word--but Fury probably knows that, and that's why he's playing it this way.

He's got to be the smoothest motherfucker Jim knows when it comes to playing him. Six months ago Jim would've said the second smoothest, but the first motherfucker who could play him like this has lost his touch to the company of Jim Beam and Johnnie Walker, so he's out of the running for now.

"There's no target," Jim says quietly. "No extraction."

"Oh, there's a target. Lt. Col. James Rhodes, USAF."

"Funny."

"You're shit at saying no to him when he takes a dive. You need the practice."

"Fuck you." Jim drops his clothes and stalks back over to the bed, leaning down and putting his fists on the edge of the bed. "I should be home right now. People could be getting hurt."

"People get hurt every day no matter who's wearing the suit. You can't save everybody."

"Yeah?"

"It's not your job to save everybody."

Jim just looks at him; Fury sighs. "You know the number one name on that list of people you can't save, right?"

"Fuck you," Jim says again, more quietly this time. "Don't set me up like this again."

"You want to promise me I won't have to?"

Jim's eyes drop; his head drops, too, and Fury reaches over and touches him, thumb sliding down over the curve of his ear. Jim's back in bed before he can really think about it, slipping into Fury's arms and feeling inch after inch of bare skin up against his own.

"Can't promise a thing," Jim murmurs.

"Yeah," Fury whispers back. "I figured."

_-end-_


End file.
